


The Rose Ascendant

by Savageseraph



Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series)
Genre: Betrayal, Multi, Power Play, Scheming, Tension, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Relationships: Vannevar Thomas/Chaz Price, Vannevar Thomas/Suzanne Rochelle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Rose Ascendant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galadriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/gifts).



Devorah Walker strolled through the gardens of the Harris estate, cold fingers trailing gently over the skin-soft petals of their famous maiden blush roses. She’d gather a few before she left, since the night robbed them of their subtle shades of pink. Though she had no need to breathe, Devorah closed her eyes and drew a deep breath to catch the faintly sugared scent of the blossoms. The garden, its statuary of sensual goddesses, the gazebo with curling art deco lattices, and the waterfall tumbling into a softly bubbling stream: all of it was hopelessly and artfully romantic.

It was not the sort of trysting place she would have expected from the man at her side. While she enjoyed the contemplative quiet that nurtured her personal muse, Chaz Price was a performer, someone who craved the attention of others and needed it fixed on him. Exhibitionism. A common failing of their shared Clan.

“Tell me, did I judge well? Do you enjoy the scenery?”

Devorah didn’t allow even a flicker of the annoyance she felt at him breaking the evening’s hush show on her face or in her tone. “The grounds are lovely. Though I imagine it is only under the sun that their full beauty shines.”

A soft chuckle. “I suppose neither of us will be able to judge that firsthand.”

“I suppose not.” Devorah followed a path to the waterfall and the pool it spilled into. She admired the fact that the architect who crafted it made excellent use of the graded land and stone to give it the illusion of being part of nature, not artifice.

Chaz stepped behind her, his body brushing against hers. His lips gently grazed the nape of her neck. “Is it done?”

And there it was. Not a romantic rendezvous, but private business. As one of his hands settled on her hip, Devorah wet her lips. Possibly it was both. That was the Toreador way after all.

“They know what’s required, and what’s in it for them when the job is done.”

“Excellent.” The soft, dark purr behind the word would have been enough to make a mortal’s breath catch, to stir the embers of lust in their blood, but Devorah felt only the lightest shiver of pleasure before a hot spike of agony ripped through her chest. The hand on her hip wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling.

Gently, oh so gently, Chaz eased her to the ground, positioning her so she could see the sharp, bloody end of the stake protruding from her chest. Devorah wanted to scream, to claw his amber eyes from his face. She wanted to run far, far away from here. Away from him. She couldn’t. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink Couldn’t speak. Chaz trailed his fingers lightly over her cheek, across her lips. 

“Such a shame.” The regret his words conveyed wasn’t reflected in his eyes as he shrugged out of his jacket and spread it on the ground next to her. “You know, I did like you.” As he spoke, he started removing her ruby earrings, the comb that held back her hair. “And I take no pleasure in this.” He worked efficiently, stripping her naked and piling her belongings on his jacket. He sighed again, fingers brushing over her nipples, across her belly. “Such a shame.”

Devorah wished she had the power to speak. She wasn’t fool enough to believe that pleading for her life would accomplish anything other than stroking Chaz’s ego and wounding her pride. No, she wanted to tell the deceitful bastard how much she loathed him. How every time they had been together, her orgasms were performance, not passion. Saying the words would have given her some small satisfaction, even though they likely wouldn’t surprise him. 

He stood, passed out of her line of sight. If he hadn’t left his jacket next to her, she would have feared he left her there for the sun to claim. When he returned, he held a single, perfect rose and a wicked knife that gleamed in the moonlight. He knelt at her side, placed the rose on her chest.

“I’d say, ‘I’m sorry,” my dear, but we both know that would be a lie, don’t we?”

 _Everything about you is a lie, you fucking bastard._

“Though I do hope you’ll note that I cared enough to provide a pretty place for your final rest.” He tangled his fingers in her hair, jerked her head back exposing her throat.

_Everything._

The knife flashed, quick as a lighting, and cut clean through flesh and spine. The strike was fast enough, the blade sharp enough, that she barely felt any pain.

Devorah watched as Chaz tossed her head into the pool. After removing the stake from her chest, he did the same with the body. Before morning, there would be no sign she was ever here. She idly stroked the petals of a ghostly maiden blush rose as he bundled up her belongings. It would be satisfying to linger here, to follow him. To keep watch until he was tripped up by his own cleverness. Until the knife was at his throat.

She stood there for hours, caught between the desire to cling to this world and the call to move on, until dawn broke over the garden. As she expected, it was more beautiful than it had been at night. And she turned toward the east and walked away. Into the light.

###

The light cast a watery halo around Vannevar Thomas, Prince of San Francisco, even though the man himself was far from angelic. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t respond in any way as the two men chained between his Sheriff’s Hounds babbled about regret and contrition. They weren’t traitors and thieves. They were trying to serve their Prince, not betray him. Granted, their case was not an easy one to make, not when they were caught with one of the Prince’s seals in their possession and threads of incriminating text messages with a Brujah Anarch on their phones.

Sadly, the unfortunate Roses couldn’t protest their innocence. Chaz had seen to that. With a little help from the dearly departed Devorah. She was noble enough to believe he was sincere when he brought her his plan to broker more peaceful relations with the Anarchs plaguing the Prince and ambitious enough to see how she could turn it to her advantage. So she gambled on him and on a plan that was not without considerable risk, never imagining that the greatest risk was to her own life.

“ _Enough._ ” 

One word from the Prince was all it took to plunge the room into silence. A silence that spun out much longer than was comfortable. While Chaz wasn’t bothered by the tension building in the room, the soft shifting and rustling of others who couldn’t fight the urge to fidget indicated that most were.

“Where is Ms. Walker now?” 

One of the Hounds, a tall man with ebony skin and four thick braids that reached the middle of his back, shook his head. “We’ve not been able to locate her yet, my Prince. Indications are that she has left the city, and as best we can determine, she’s headed to Los Angeles.”

Vannevar frowned, stroked his jaw thoughtfully.

If Devorah was fortunate, she might well be in a City of Angels. Just not the one in California. Chaz allowed himself a small, secret smile at his cleverness. He trusted Vannevar had agents in Los Angeles; but with the Anarchs holding sway there, locating someone determined to hide from the Camarilla would prove challenging at best. It was a city a Kindred could get lost in or use as a steppingstone to just about anywhere in the world.

“Alert our people in the city to acquire her if they have the opportunity and to end her if they cannot take her.”

The Hound nodded once. “My Prince.”

“Oh. And one other thing.” Vannevar gestured idly at the men kneeling between the Hounds. “Dispose of the bodies quickly and discreetly. My Senechal will be most distressed to discover some of her acquaintances betrayed her trust and her Prince, and I’d rather have any unpleasantness concluded before her return.”

Chaz wasn’t sure what bothered the Court more, the earlier silence or the screams and pleas of the men being dragged to their final deaths. He found their choice to make a spectacle of themselves deeply distasteful, and it embarrassed him that others would sneer at his Clan because of it. However, he had to confess it served as a sobering and effective reminder that the pursuit of power did not forgive failure.

“Friends.” Vannevar’s smile was too warm and welcoming. He extended and spread his arms, the gesture encompassing everyone in the room. “We know each other well enough that I fear I’m about to state the obvious.” The smile faded as his gaze moved across the room, lighting on each person who attended him before moving on. “ _I_ decide who we negotiate with and how. _I_ decide who can speak with my voice. _I_ decide which of you can continue to enjoy the advantages of my Court and which of you need to be removed.”

Chaz noted those who wouldn’t quite meet Vannevar’s gaze, and he made sure that he was not numbered among them.

“Anyone who thinks otherwise, well…” The smile was back, sharp as a blade. “I’m afraid that a person that reckless, a person with that much disregard for our laws, is a danger to themselves and to all of us. And that will not be tolerated in this Court.”

Before the first protestation of loyalty could leave anyone’s lips, Vannevar rose abruptly and stalked out the room.

For a time, no one moved. Then a trio of Brujah, resentment sparking in their eyes, left without a word. Others followed, alone or in groups. Chaz hoped he’d be able to get a sense for how the Court was taking the downfall of some of the Senechal’s circle, but all wisely kept their thoughts to themselves. How many of them were secretly simmering in the same sense of satisfaction he was? How many would use this as an opportunity to advance themselves? How many might he had to eliminate to ensure his own power? All questions that begged answers.

As the last few people trickled from the room, Chaz followed them and did his best to squash a flash of annoyance. He couldn’t linger any longer without making it obvious he was delaying, and that smacked too much of desperation for him to indulge. Not when all the dominos he’d carefully lined up were falling as he planned. 

“Mr. Price.” 

_Ah._ Chaz smiled, turned. One of the Prince’s guards, a massive ghoul who looked like he could lift a car with one hand, stood in front of the door Vannevar had used to leave the room.

“Yes?” Chaz might have asked the man his name, but that didn’t matter. Only his message did.

“The Prince would speak with you.”

What Chaz thought was, _Perfect. This is perfect._ , but what he said was, “I am at his disposal.” 

He crossed the room, savoring the flush of warmth that prickled just under his skin. It wasn’t as intoxicating as blood, but victory tasted almost as sweet. All that was left was to seal the deal, as the Ventrue would say, and Chaz was confident in his ability to close this one.

###

Clothes lay scattered across the floor in Vannevar’s study. Chaz resented the fact that all of the clothes were his and that the Prince hadn’t bothered to remove any of his own. The awkward fumbling for discards that followed impersonal fucking offended Chaz’s sensibilities, though he supposed it gratified Vannevar’s ego, and an ego of such impressive size needed considerable gratification.

When Vannevar asked what Chaz wanted for uncovering the Anarch plot, Chaz was prepared. “I noticed that your Court doesn’t have a Herald. I would be honored if you would consider allowing me to serve.” 

“To serve as my…Herald?” 

Chaz nodded, not certain he trusted the way the Prince studied him. Head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Lips curved in amusement.

Vannevar chuckled. “And, am I to believe, you want to spend your nights running around the city issuing decrees?”

“Of course not, my Prince.” Chaz shook his head, sidestepping the obvious trap. “A Herald doesn’t issue decrees. Or enforce them. He communicates the will of the Prince.” A pause. “And would report to his Prince how such decrees were received by his subjects.”

“Ah.” Vannevar stretched out the sound. “I see what you are suggesting.” He tapped a finger against his lips as he considered the offer.

This time, the silence that spun out between them did bother Chaz, and he struggled to stay still and keep his expression polite and respectful.

“I confess, it is an interesting proposition.”

 _Don’t overplay your hand. Don’t look too eager._ Chaz inclined his head. “I hope, my Prince, that you will entertain it.”

“I shall, Mr. Price. I certainly shall.” Vannevar’s gaze moved over him. “Although… Perhaps you would like the opportunity to sway my thinking on the matter.”

Chaz lowered his gaze. “Your desire is my duty.” He was acutely aware of the layers of meaning his words held and more than a little curious to see what the Prince would make of them.

“Of course, it is.” Vannevar’s smile grew wicked. “And I will entertain your proposal, while you entertain me.” He licked his lips. “Perhaps a demonstration of how eager you are to serve would do the trick. Hmm?”

 _A demonstration._ Chaz flashed Vannevar a smile as he shrugged out of his jacket and let is slip to the floor. Pride wouldn’t allow him to provide a demonstration when what was called for was a show. Slowly, oh so slowly, Chaz undid the buttons of his shirt, his fingers moving over his skin as it was revealed. When he unbuttoned his trousers, Vannevar did the same so he could stroke himself while Chaz finished his private striptease.

“Are you entertained?” Chaz didn’t wait for Vannevar to answer before dropping to his knees, a position certain to appeal to Vannevar’s ego. “My Prince?” He wanted to laugh when Vannevar didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he gripped Chaz’s hair in one hand while he thrust into his mouth.

 _So predictable._ He let his eyes slip closed as Vannevar fucked his mouth, the Prince chasing his own pleasure like it was Chaz’s absolute duty to provide it. _So predictable, and so Ventrue._

What was somewhat less predictable was Vannevar pushing him away and ordering him to kneel on the desk. To kneel and watch. Chaz watched their reflections in the mirror on the opposite wall. He watched his body tense as Vannevar thrust into him with no preparation. Watched as he forced himself to relax, to accept. To submit. He watched as Vannevar shuddered and cursed when he tightened around him. And he watched as Vannevar found his release and then pulled out before Chaz could follow.

Chaz thrust into the air that offered no sweet friction or warmth before he mastered himself and his body. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He hated Vannevar in that moment for using him, just as he hated himself for allowing it to occur. 

“To answer your question, I find myself quite entertained.” A pause. “Herald Price.” Although he did up his trousers, Vannevar didn’t bother putting his clothes to rights as he crossed the room. “I do hope you’ll excuse me, as I have pressing business that needs my attention.” He glanced back over his shoulder to get a last lingering look at Chaz. “I trust you can see yourself out.”

Chaz wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he finally moved off the desk to collect his clothes. He took more care to make himself presentable than Vannevar had as he dressed. Once he’d straightened his jacket and smoothed down his hair, he studied himself in the mirror. 

_Herald Price._ He waited many moments to feel the satisfaction of a plan well executed, and while he wasn’t displeased with the work he done, an edge of bitterness soured his victory.

And that was disappointing and tragic.

###

“Tragic. The whole affair was quite tragic.” Chaz would never admit it, but standing in front of Suzanne Rochelle’s desk made him more nervous than facing her lover. “I know how hard this must be for you, Lady Senechal.”

“Do you?” Suzanne Rochelle’s voice was rimed with frost.

“But, of course. There aren’t many who can say they didn’t, at one point or another, place their faith in someone undeserving of such a gift.” Chaz took great pains not to lie, not outright, not when some of his fellows could hear outright deception.

“Of course.” 

Though she lacked Vannevar’s talents to manipulate his mind, Chaz couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Suzanne’s blue, blue eyes saw straight through him. When the full weight of her presence pressed against him, he felt a trickle of dread slither through his chest, as he felt compelled to tell her everything. Every detail of his plot to worm his way into Vannevar’s good graces and become his Herald. In fact, he wanted to tell her almost more than he wanted the title itself.

Chaz closed his eyes, shook his head to dispel the compulsion that churned inside him. To speak would please the remarkable woman who deserved all of his affection. He bit down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood. To speak would mean his death.

“Mr. Price, are you unwell?” 

Forcing a smile, Chaz shook his head. “I beg your pardon, Senechal Suzanne, I was momentarily distracted. Please forgive my rudeness.”

“Ah.” Immaculately manicured nails tap-tap-tapped as she drummed her fingers against the desk. “You are familiar with the myth of Icarus, no?” She took a sip from a goblet and let the liquid inside stain her lips red.

“Of course.” He felt a flash of irritation that she would suggest he wasn’t fluent in classical literature.

“It is one of those stories that fall out of favor. Cautionary tales usually don’t endear themselves to our Clan or any who strive to follow their passion. But we would do well to remembering them. Do you know why?”

Chaz had a pretty good idea, but instead of answering, he smiled inclined his head. “I would know your thoughts on the matter.”

“So gracious in your deference, hmm?” Suzanne’s smile was anything but gracious. It was an apex predator’s baring of teeth. “It’s so that we have a care that the wings we craft to soar to new heights don’t send us spiraling to our death because we dared fly too close to the sun.”

Although her words were a thinly veiled threat, they had the opposite effect on Chaz. If the Senechal had proof to implicate him in her friends’ deaths, she would have used to bring him down or to blackmail him. What she had was a healthy dose of suspicion, and while that might complicate things for him, it wasn’t enough to bring him down. “I think we understand each other, Senechal.” 

“I certainly hope so, Mr. Price. For your sake.” Her attention went back to her paperwork, the dismissal both clear and cutting.

As Chaz opened the door to leave, he nearly collided with a ghoul, an alluring girl with large, brown eyes, and curves he would have loved to trace with his tongue. She flushed and begged his pardon as she clutched the cut crystal vase that had nearly fallen tight against her body. The facets in the glass cast rainbows on her fair skin, skin almost the same color as the flowers in the vase.

A dozen maiden blush roses, their petals soft as skin.


End file.
